


have yourself a merry little christmas

by StrangeHormones



Series: kinky christmas twenty-twenty [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Blood, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: will graham x reader | red lace, vanilla candle, rudolph reindeer antlers
Relationships: Will Graham/Reader
Series: kinky christmas twenty-twenty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040285
Kudos: 25





	have yourself a merry little christmas

**Author's Note:**

> kinky xmas presented by horrorslashergirl, days one, two, and three

It was like looking at Will not from a different time but a different reality. Not only is he smiling, something he hardly did now and even when he did, it rarely reached his eyes. But he’s allowed a beautiful woman you assume must’ve been an old co-worker or girlfriend to slip reindeer antlers quite reminiscent of Rudolph on his head. He has a drink in his hand, seemingly not happy about the photo but at everything surrounding it that couldn’t be caught on film. You wonder if you had met this Will, if the two of you had crossed paths, would you have managed to find yourselves where you did now? You decide it’s better not to think about it any longer, tucking the photo back beneath the paper in the drawer where it had clearly been forgotten, and slamming it so hard that the wood hitting itself echoed. You move your gaze along the spattering of candles that littered the one-room cottage, filling it with the smells of vanilla and spiced apples. Before falling on your body. Your stomach twists in knots, the picture flashes in your mind, and every second that passes makes this feel like more and more of a bad idea. You hate this feeling, Hannibal had called it codependency, you’re sure it’s something much simpler. 

The very real fear that one day he would disappear from your life. Comforting candles and scarlet lace might stop baser men but Will Graham was something far more than that. Sometimes you were even hesitant to call him a man. He had always reminded you more of a fallen angel, doomed to be more than. Above you and the rest of the world. You sit shakily on the edge of the bed, using it to ground you more than anything else. Tracing swooping reds that seems to burn now against your skin, over the curve of your hips to the bare plain of your stomach. The bralette is barely that, hiding nipples that strained in the cold and little else. You had felt good, almost desirable in the ensemble when you had bought it the week before. But now… you think of that smile. The one you’ve never seen, that has never been yours truly. Only stolen.

The wood of the front porch creaks, the candlelight doesn’t feel sensual anymore but foreboding. All you can do is wait, trying to calm your breathing when all it seems to want to do is stick in your throat. You’ve never felt more exposed than when the door opened, cold air whipping through the room and making goosebumps rise on your skin. He hurries in, making sure the door is firmly shut before removing his boots, jacket, gloves, and hat. All you can do is sit and watch him, there’s nowhere to go.

“I thought we said no gifts for Christmas.”

It isn’t the words. It’s the normality of it all. The implication. But most importantly, it’s that smile. A smile that reminds you that he’s human. That he wouldn’t be here with you if he didn’t want to be.

“Good thing it’s Christmas Eve,” your voice quiet as you fruitlessly tried to remember how to breathe deeply, hoping rising onto stocking covered feet would distract him from your stuttering chest.

You can feel his ocean eyes drag along your skin, tongue darting to wet his lips as he took determined strides towards you. Replacing the sharpness of his gaze with the warmth of his skin. Pulling you close against him, lips running along your skin, this shiver isn’t from the cold.

“Two minutes after midnight,” he whispers, the lightest push forward sending you falling back onto the bed as he loomed over you, “Merry Christmas.”

It’s as if the electricity in the air had shocked you to life. The way his tongue curls around the words, the tenor of his voice, a visible shiver running through your body.Your entire body feels on fire. It's never felt like this before, you're terrified, excited. He seem to need you more with each passing second. You have to become a part of him in this moment. You nip his bottom lip, bury a hand in his hair, your nails beginning to press into his scalp. Tomorrow you will do this all over ago, soft and gentle but that isn't now. You feel his growl, it seems to almost shake the room. He rolls, pulling you over his lap. Your body writhes against him, there’s no sense of control left in either of you.

You yanks his shirt open, buttons fly, clattering to the floor, but he doesn't hear it. He pulls away from you with a wet smack, eyes drawn to the way the ornate fabric covering your breasts, following the exposed path of flesh to the band of your panties with his eyes. That's as far as he gets, a sharp tug on his hair forces his eyes to yours. I need you. It might as well be written all over your face. He needs you too, he doesn't quite know how to say it, just as he hadn't quite known how to say he anything else. No doubt you would pull the words he couldn't bring himself to speak from him. A power that only you seem to have been blessed with, something else he’s yet to tell you. His hands grip your waist, feeling the way your ribs fit in his hands. How easily they could break. His lips collide with yours, splitting your lip, the taste of copper passing between the your heated embrace. One hand keeps your grip on his hair, the other claws at the zipper of his jeans.

You inch the fabric down, enough to release his straining cock. He pulls you close, crushing his chest to yours, one hand holding you hair in an iron grip as he traced the new arch of your back. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, it reopens old wounds, it will scar this way. You shriek, shaking against him, your hips rolling against his and pushing him past the point of no return. His hands makes it way over your back, across your hips, until he's cupping you through the thin netted fabric of your panties. You press against him, head thrown back, making the smallest squeaks and moans he's ever heard. That won't do, the beast inside him needs more.

It's as if you know, you always seem to know, looking at him through hooded eyes, hands traveling down his torso. He smirks, moving his hand with a sound of protest from you, only to grab each side at your hips. Fabric ripping echoed in the room, making your hands lose their skill, pawing at the edge of the fabric as the heel of his hand began to grind into you. There's no stopping him, ducking his head to roll a nipple between his teeth, pushing the fabric into it along with his teeth. He'd held the beast down long enough and it would not turn down such an open invitation.

“I need you,” it's a growl to rival his own, it's just not enough, not for you, not now.

He barely seems to move, spinning so you were splayed on the bed, his pants and boxers dropping awkwardly to his knees as he covered you body with his. His hands pin your wrists, his mouth attacks your neck with bites, He doesn't think, he doesn't have to. The predator knows exactly what to do. With a quick roll of his hips, his tip probes your soft wet entrance, all it takes is a hard, needy thrust and he's buried inside you. You scream, your body convulsed, your arms try to push back against his grip. He bit the crook of your neck, hard, as he began to piston his hips back and forth. Shrieks and groans meld together, his, yours, it didn't matter. Weren't they the same thing at this point? Your heels dig into the small of his back, your hips rise and fall against his, eyes rolling at the strength and depth of his thrusts. Back arching, you throw your head back, he can see a blood-curdling shriek building in your chest. He's seen it before. He finally releases a wrist. Your nails dig into his neck, cutting deeply, he can feel blood begin to slide down the sweat slicked skin of his chest, the salt stinging the wounds as you dig deeper. You come completely undone beneath him, thrashing and growling, like no woman before and it pulls his own orgasm from him like a shot. He doesn't even registers it's happened till he's growing soft against you.

“Merry Christmas,” you pant, running your lips across the bloody crescents you’d left on his neck.


End file.
